Turning Point by Barbara Spencer Read Free Book Online Page B

listen, his sense of disappointment overwhelming.
    â€˜He did what was expected of him, Scott.’ Tulsa pulled his ear-phones away, his expression sympathetic. ‘I know you wanted a magic wand, a ticker-tape parade… it was never going to happen. Diplomacy works through private meetings, brandy and cigars. Stewart Horrington will be quite satisfied with today’s events. Your father has made it possible for the United States to get back into the ring and fight their corner, without everyone hurling bricks at them. Cheer up, you may not believe anything happened down there,’ Tulsa pointed to the delegates, ‘but that little speech is like a fresh dealer in a poker game shuffling the cards. The world order is about to change and some won’t like that one little bit.’

Four

    A knock came on the door. A young man peered round, his expression so serious and full of portent Scott expected him to come out with something earth-shattering. ‘Representative Horrington has asked for you to join him upstairs.’
    Scott got to his feet, glancing back for a last look at the Assembly, its members continuing to talk in levelled tones as if discussing the weather. Miserably, he retraced his steps to the bank of lift shafts, Tulsa silent behind him.
    The lift glided to a stop on the seventeenth floor, its doors opening onto a spacious lobby with three sets of double-doors, highly-polished and firmly shut. Two bore the flags of China and France, two of the five permanent members of the Security Council. The third boasted not only the Stars and Stripes, but also marines. Standing to attention on either side of the doorway, they looked smart in their navy and blue uniform with white belts and gloves, a workmanlike rifle perched at their side.
    â€˜I am told they come with the Secretary of State.’ Bill Anderson greeted his son. ‘Apparently, she never travels without them. Swears they’re better than a handbag.’ He put his good arm round his son, hugging him tightly. ‘Well, Scott, we did it. And we’re still here. Come on, let’s celebrate.’
    Scott grinned, the black cloud hovering above his forehead fading abruptly. It was over and his dad was safe. Nothing else really mattered.
    A hubbub of noise, a dozen people or more making small talk, greeted their entrance into the suite of rooms – a lookalike of their hotel suite, its neutral colours instantly forgettable. Framed photographs of past presidents decorated the end wall, the present incumbent in solitary splendour facing the doorway, all at the correct height for comfortable viewing. A woman was waiting. Not tall, but upright as if determined to make the most of her inches, her grey hair tailored into a severe bob, every pore oozing power and charm.
    â€˜Glad to meet you, Bill. Quite some experience by all accounts.’ The Secretary of State welcomed them.
    â€˜Not one I want to repeat. My son and I are celebrating by taking a few days holiday in Europe. Our first ever.’
    â€˜So I gather. And this is your son. Scott isn’t it?’ Her voice was sharp, its accent that of the north-west.
    Scott nodded, suddenly tongue-tied. It was one thing to read about powerful people, quite another to find yourself talking to them. Besides, all he’d done was try and find his dad – nothing special.
    â€˜We’re grateful for your tenacity, Scott.’
    The Secretary of State fixed her penetrating gaze on his father and took his arm. ‘Come along, Bill, there’s someone here I want you to meet.’
    Scott relaxed, happy to remain insignificant if it meant skipping complicated conversation, especially since he wasn’t quite sure what
tenacity
actually meant. Hopefully, it meant being stubborn, because that’s what he was. But if he’d given the wrong answer, he’d sound like a real dork.
    Left on his own, he wandered over to the window and pulled back the blind.